FIELD NOTES FROM A MARRIED MAN

I Finally Captured a Yes Deer

I tracked the creature through the woods, then brought it home and poked the wrong bear

Oh deer! Photo by the author.

— Written with heart, humor and a stubborn refusal to stay silent —

This is big — really big.

How big? Huge big.

I’ve captured a photo of the elusive Yes Deer. Oh happy days.

I’ve mumbled its name often. I’ve growled it through clenched teeth. But never, until just the other day, have I ever come face to face with one of them.

I’d had to be very careful as I approached. I slowly tiptoed through the underbrush, wary of making even the slightest sound. They’re such skittish creatures.

Besides, I knew the danger.

More than once, an innocent “yes deer” has gotten me in trouble. You wouldn’t think something so innocent would be so fraught with risk.

Quietly I approached. I held my breath. I barely moved.

Then I stepped on a stick.

Snap!

It raised its head from the puddle it was slurping. It looked me in the eyes, as if to say, “you really want to do this?”

I felt like I was the one in the headlights for a change.

I clicked. Bingo. I got myself a Yes Deer.

I couldn’t wait to tell Tricia when I returned from the woods. I burst into the house, my boots flinging mud with each step.

“Tricia, Tricia. Guess what?”

“You took out the trash without me having to ask you?”

“No, better than that! Look.”

“What is it?”

“Why, it’s a Yes Deer.”

Maybe it was something about the way I said it. I didn’t quite get the enthusiastic response I was expecting.

“You know how much I hate ‘Yes Dear.’”

“But Tricia, I didn’t say ‘Yes Dear.’ I said, ‘Yes Deer.’ Isn’t it pretty?”

God, I hate “the look.”

I suppose I did push it a bit. Sometimes my nature journeys just put a bit of mischief into my soul. Or is it foolishness — sometimes it’s hard to tell?

And yeah, I knew darn well what I was doing. Tricia calls it poking the bear.

Evidently, using a deer to poke a bear isn’t such a good idea.

“Promise me you’ll never say it again.”

“Yes… uh yes… moose?”

“Moose?!? Now I’m a moose?”

“You were a bear a minute ago.”

She crossed her arms. “You poked the bear.”

“Technically,” I said, “I poked the bear with a deer.”

And that, friends, is how I ended up spending the night on the couch, clutching a bruised backside and learning the hard way that when you poke a bear, it kicks.

More wildlife adventures: The Woodpecker Who Tried to Kill My Sunrise

[embed]The Woodpecker Who Tried to Kill My Sunrise And the moment Tricia transformed into a shotgun‑wielding Appalachian avengermedium.com

If you enjoy domestic espionage, Midwestern captivity or the ongoing saga of a man trying to stay upright in a world that refuses to cooperate, follow me. I write daily dispatches from the front lines of ordinary absurdity.